


My Naked Lady Framed

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Cunnilingus, Drabble, Erotic Poetry, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Poetry, Jack's a hungry man, Lazy Morning, Mostly Fluff, Oral Sex, Snippets, Sunday - Freeform, e.e. cummings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: my naked lady framedin twilight is an accidentA short, fluffy and mildly smutty Sunday snippet, loosely based on the poem of the same name by E. E. Cummings.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 114





	My Naked Lady Framed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this late last night, and decided to post it because I think we can all do with a bit of fluffy Phrack in our lives right now. There is one teeny, tiny quote from the movie but it’s not a spoiler and you probably won’t even notice it if you haven’t seen the movie. So no worries! Kudos to glamorouspixels for the beta!

_my naked lady framed  
_ _in twilight is an accident_

_whose niceness betters easily the intent  
_ _of genius—  
_ _painting wholly feels ashamed  
_ _before this music,and poetry cannot  
_ _go near because perfectly fearful._

_meanwhile these speak her wonderful  
_ _But i(having in my arms caught_

_the picture)hurry it slowly_

_to my mouth,taste the accurate demure  
_ _ferocious  
_ _rhythm of  
_ _precise  
_ _laziness. Eat the price_

_of an imaginable gesture_

_exact warm unholy_

When Jack re-enters his bedroom, the sight that he encounters makes him pause on the threshold.

It’s still early – he supposes it can’t be any later than five in the morning – and there’s a slight chill in the air. Nature’s call had been urgent, and he’d grudgingly gotten out of bed to relieve his bladder, careful not to wake his companion. But he would have given anything to stay right there, wrapped up in a comforting cocoon of warmth and woman.

He still can’t believe she’s here. This strong woman, this fierce lady, this troublesome creature.

She must have noticed his absence even in her sleep, because she has turned and twisted. The sheet is pulled taut around her slender frame. She has partially turned onto her back, and is now fast asleep in the middle of the bed. The centre of his attention, even when she’s dead to the world. One arm is flung out above her head and onto his pillow. The thin sheet has slipped down, revealing a pair of small but firm breasts to his hungry gaze. Her dusky pink nipples tempt him just as much as the hidden but still visible curve of her shapely hip and the dip in the sheet at the apex of her thighs.

In the soft glow of the early twilight, her ever graceful repose reminds Jack of a painting he had the distinct pleasure of laying his eyes on early in their acquaintance. The elegant slope of her alabaster neck, the gentle arch of her breastbone, the lush swell of her breasts… He remembers all too well his acute mortification, growing hard in her presence for the very first time, attempting to hide his strong reaction to her beautiful body on his way out. He can recollect with ease the way he blushed at seeing all of her fair, naked skin portrayed in calculated brushstrokes of peaches and creams.

It’s all still there. The only difference is that she is here, now, in his bed.

And Jack knows now, knows that no painting, no poem, no operetta could ever do justice to the real thing.

To him, her beauty lies in her imperfections. It’s in the tiny scars on her calf from when she was bitten by a small dog at the tender age of eight. It’s in the way the freckles she tries to cover up with powders still stubbornly show up whenever summer is upon them, and the sun hits her skin. It’s in the small, barely noticeable wrinkles that appear whenever she smiles at him in adoration. It’s in the way she sometimes slaps his arm just this side of too hard when he’s being clever or cheeky.

Phryne sighs and shifts, turning onto her side again and exposing a bit of her bare midriff, and Jack suddenly wonders what he’s doing, still standing in the doorway instead of being right there in the bed with her. In a few short but quiet steps he sits down on what he formerly considered to be his side of the bed. The mattress dips ever so gently as he is careful not to wake her. He hasn’t bothered putting on underwear and he knows his body is cool to the touch, but one part of his anatomy in particular is warming up to the idea of snuggling up to the woman he loves.

She stirs when he embraces her from behind, spooning her and pressing his front against her back. He still marvels at the softness of her skin. The texture of it is almost as luxurious as the woman who occupies it, and he knows from personal experience that it’s the softest right around her navel, in the creases where her buttocks meet her legs, and between her thighs.

The hand on her belly slips downwards to tease the wiry curls on her mons veneris, and her pleased hum tells him that she’s awake. He boldly but gently presses his hardening cock in the cleft between her supple buttocks.

“Mmm, Jack,’ she sighs softly, and he’s in love with the way she says his name. It’s just a name, a common one at that, and he has never thought much of it. But whenever she says it, he feels like a king.

Turning, she winds one arm around so she can grab hold of the back of his head, and using the leverage to her advantage, she pulls him to her. She needn’t have made such an effort, because he comes willingly. Her lips have been tempting him since the day they met.

When he pushes one finger into her coarse hairs, he finds she’s already damp with arousal and he groans into her mouth. He likes to imagine he can still taste himself on her tongue from when she showed him one of her many talents, only a couple of hours ago. It’s all still a bit foreign to him, and they both haven’t brushed their teeth yet, but she’s warm, and wet, and there is an underlying taste to her that’s all her own. It’s unique, and it draws him in every time he kisses her. He doubts he will ever tire of it.

Their mouths move against one another, lips tracing lips and tongues teasing tongues. It’s Sunday, and neither of them have anywhere to be. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with her, enjoying this perfect rhythm of precise laziness.

His fingers move between her swollen, slick folds and she moans against his lips, then draws back.

One corner of her mouth curves upwards, and he knows what she’s after when she teasingly pulls at his curly, unruly morning hair.

If he’s a king, then surely she must be his queen, looking at him with such regal admiration that he can only hope she will accept his utter supplication.

He knows what she wants, knows what she likes, knows what can make her squirm, knows how to make her scream. She has shown him, and he, in turn, showed her that he wasn’t quite as inexperienced as she’d assumed. He’d made her come three times with his tongue alone before the night was over.

He fumbles with the sheet, being that it was still wrapped around Phryne’s feet, but after a bit of pulling and tugging – he blushes at that – he manages to position himself between her spread thighs.

Opening her to his gaze, her earthy scent ensnares him and his cock throbs at the mere memories and the sensory overload.

_A secret oasis_ , indeed.

When his tongue touches her, he licks her slit, opening to clit, and she mewls. The familiar tightening of her hand in his hair makes him smirk smugly against her cunt. He has to work hard to keep her thighs from clamping down on his head, and soon she’s thrashing against the sheets. One hand is in his hair, the other is close to tearing his bedlinen to shreds.

He laps at her like a man who’s starving, drowning, aching. When he pushes a finger inside her, her hips buck and she nearly breaks his nose. Admonishing her, he wordlessly presses down on her abdomen with his other hand, using a bit more force than necessary. By now he’s confident enough, knows her and her body well enough to know that she’s not exactly averse to a bit of powerplay in the bedroom. If anything, he suspects this might arouse her more than anything.

His pace is steady, and he keeps it going, even after adding a second finger, and then a third, pleasantly stretching her. His arousal is persistently pressing into the mattress but it’s of no importance to him right now. Phryne’s moaning uninhibitedly, cursing him to hell and back for keeping her on the precipice and Jack wonders if his neighbours still believe Phryne is ‘just a friend’ at this point.

Her back is arched, her pert breasts are heaving and Jack knows that her nipples must be hard enough to cut diamonds by now. He will tend to them, later.

When he nibbles at her clit, she slings profanities at him that would have made Mrs Collins run to the nearest church.

When he kisses her nub, she sighs in between pants.

_He kissed—the last of many doubled kisses—  
_ _This orient pearl_

When he bites her pearl, she suddenly goes quiet.

Her orgasm washes over her in waves, and it’s accompanied by a silent cry. Her mouth opens but not a sound emerges. Her eyes are closed, and her body snaps taut, save for the spasmodic fluttering of her muscles around his invading digits. Her silence at the ultimate cusp is in stark contrast with her usually animated and sometimes almost obnoxiously loud presence. But in no way is she any less beautiful to him right now than when she invades his personal space like the charming freight train she is.

She gathers him to her, cradles his head against her bosom and tenderly strokes his abused hair, soothes his scalp and kisses his forehead.

If this is a sin, then he supposes he is past the point of caring. He will gladly be unholy if it means he gets to spend his life in the arms of this wonderful woman until his dying day.


End file.
